


a hovering like grace

by agent_orange



Category: American Idiot - Green Day/Armstrong
Genre: Amputation, Anal Sex, Board Games, Canon Character of Color, Canon Disabled Character, Cunnilingus, Curtain Fic, Domestic, F/M, Female Character of Color, Foot Massage, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Medical Trauma, Movie Night, Multi, Nursing, Polyamory, Teaching, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 15:42:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2073792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_orange/pseuds/agent_orange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just take it one day at a time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a hovering like grace

Tunny and Will both hate Monday mornings. Claire loves them. No matter how terrible the previous week might have been, there's always a new one. Time to start fresh, fix mistakes, try again. The ER's slow until nine AM, and then things pick up until the craziness hits the level where Claire thrives most. She needs things to be a little hectic—a side effect of practicing combat medicine; she's most efficient under pressure.

Her shift starts at four, so she wakes at three on Mondays, turning off the alarm as quickly as possible. The hot shower she takes doesn't do much to help get her alert. Extra-strong black coffee does that. Sometimes Will wakes up from the noise of running water or the coffee maker, though he always goes back to sleep in a few minutes. Luckily, Tunny never does, or else he'd be up for the day.

He's sleeping in the fetal position, body one lean curve around his left thigh, like he's still trying to protect it. Will, on the other hand, stretches out more, his arm slung across Tunny's chest like a blanket, like a shield, legs splayed.

Because the trauma unit's always unpredictable and there's not usually time to eat, Claire has a big breakfast before throwing on the first clean clothes she can find and putting on just enough makeup to not look tired. Her hair gets pulled back into a tight bun so she doesn't have to deal with it, and then she kisses Will and Tunny on their foreheads before leaving, locking the door behind her.

Her boys, sleeping soundly in their bed while Claire dresses wounds and runs tests. (Tunny says she has a Messiah complex, which Claire argues isn't true. She's just altruistic and caring, nothing more.) Later, they'll get up, maybe lazily mess around before Will's 'early' class. It makes her heart swell, just a little, and she has to push the thoughts away to focus.

* 

She gets home late after her prep class for the nurse practitioner exam, tired and achy. Tunny and Will normally eat dinner without her, which is fine; she grabbed a sandwich on the way.

"No, c'mon, tell me," Will coaxes, asking about a weird case Claire'd casually mentioned. "It's not like we know the guy or anything." His thumb presses into her foot at its sorest point, massaging it, and Claire thinks she actually whimpers a little.

"Fine," she says. "One case, and you keep—oh, fuck, _yeah_ —doing that."

"It's a good thing I don't get jealous easily," Tunny cracks. "And that I have high self-esteem."  

"A blessing and a curse," Claire deadpans, swatting him with a pillow. "Okay, so this guy comes into the ER, and he says he has a 'private problem.' He asks if he can see a male nurse instead, and I tell him, 'Look, buddy, if you want to wait until lunch to get checked out, that's fine with me.' Apparently, this idiot thought it'd be a great idea to have his girlfriend shove a lightbulb up his ass."

Tunny says _what the fuck?_ at the same time Will says _holy shit_. Their expressions are incredulous, and a little disgusted.

"Why would he even..." Tunny starts, a wince cutting his sentence off.

"He says he was drunk," Claire answers. "That's not really an excuse, in my opinion, but whatever. Maybe he'll remember his medical bill the next time he decides to get trashed."

"But how did you get it out?" Will asks. He looks like he's not sure he even wants to know, but can't help his childlike curiosity.

"I won't bore you with the details," she says. Gross them out, more like. "Basically, it came down to balloons and catheters. And if either of you ever think about doing something stupid like this...well, have fun explaining it to the poor ER nurse who gets stuck with you."

Tunny shudders. "No thanks," he says, shaking his head. "Between your strap-on and Will's dick, I think I'm good."  

"Damn right," Will chimes in, and Claire laughs.

*

Wednesdays are Tunny's longest day at the studio, and normally Claire uses the time to get caught up on things she needs to do: errands, housework, studying. He's out the door by eight-fifteen with a quick kiss goodbye.

The cleaning supplies are under the sink; hands catch Claire's waist when she bends to get them.

"You really should eat more," Will says. He might be right. His hands look just a little too big on her body. "I'll make you a bowl of cereal before you get started. Ten minutes, that's it."

Her stomach growls, and Claire relents. Will slices up the last of the strawberries to toss into the Total, updating the list without a reminder.

"I can take your check to the bank if you want," she offers. "I need to go anyway."

"No," Will says. "They're late this month. I'll do it myself, when I get it."  

"Fuck," Claire says, not quite under her breath. Utilities are due on the fifteenth. Tunny needs more meds and stump socks, which aren't reimbursable until tax time; plus, they have to pay forty percent of his PT costs. She might need to put in some overtime if Will's paycheck doesn't come soon. "Well, I'll see you later." She pecks him on the cheek and grabs her purse.

*

It only takes a couple hours at the laundromat to get everything washed, and she's able to answer a bunch of practice questions on pediatric patients. The bank takes a little longer than it should, because there's a woman bleeding everywhere and swearing up a storm and Claire can't help but give her gauze while spot-diagnosing her with delusional disorder.

(Okay, maybe she _does_ want to help everyone. There are worse flaws.)

The guy at the pet store has learned Claire's name by now, and he slips a toy into the bag along with the chinchilla food.

*

By the time she gets home, it's just after one, and she hasn't even cleaned yet. But Will scrubs down the bathroom while Claire does the kitchen, and then they're done. Tunny'll straighten up the bedroom later.

They plunk down on the couch, barely missing the stack of books Will's been tearing through.

"You nervous?" Claire asks. Will's got his teacher certification exam in a few weeks. "Here, I'll quiz you, and then you can do me."

She gets his anxiety, really, but it's completely unfounded. Will seems surprised he knows almost all the answers, toppling Claire's back to the cushions as he kisses her in excitement.

*

On Thursdays, Will student teaches at the local high school—English and History. Claire had the late shift the night before, so he's gone by the time she gets up, but Tunny's there, fingers stroking through her hair as her vision comes into focus. He's doing a crossword puzzle, flipping the pencil between his fingers as he thinks.

"Seven letter word for stupid?" he asks, stumped.

Claire pages through her mental dictionary, brain still a little fuzzy with sleep. "Asinine, maybe," she suggests. "Do you have to work today?"

Tunny laughs a little, and Claire can feel the vibrations. "It's almost noon," he says. "I went in for a few hours this morning. Sold a bong and a couple of figurines, and I've got the rest of the day free."

"Good for you." She strokes her thumb along the stubble dotting his jaw, gingery and rough. "I can't believe the cops down the street don't care what you sell."

"Hey, as long as it's not weed, they're cool with it," Tunny says. "There's cold pizza in the fridge. Breakfast or lunch, your choice, and I think there's half a grapefruit left."  

Claire grins. "Healthy."

"I can stop by the grocery tonight to get some real food." He fills in another line, pencil scratching against the newspaper.

"Thank you," she says, settling in for a few more minutes with her eyes closed.

*

Claire was planning on getting a run in, a short one, only four klicks, but it rains. Normally that wouldn't stop her; it's the thunder that does, since lightning's sure to follow. Instead, they break out the board games: she whups Tunny's ass at Scrabble, but he's way better at Jenga.

The whole tower topples over when she tries to guide a piece out, crashing down loudly onto the table.

"Fuck yeah," Tunny crows gleefully, pushing the blocks together. "Wanna go again, or was that too much for you?"

"One more round of each," she says, knowing the outcome will probably be the same. "Then I have to study before my shift."

*

Saturdays are lazy, leggings and an oversized T-shirt, dirty hair in a messy ponytail days for Claire. Tunny's stubble's grown into scruff, and Will uses his last pair of clean boxers. It's do-nothing day, and they normally watch movies or catch up on missed TV shows, alternating who gets to pick.

 _Entourage_ is followed by _How I Met Your Mother_ , and they pause _Zodiac_ halfway through to make two big bowls of popcorn, compromising on butter and salt for one bowl and cheese for the other.

Claire's heart starts racing when the teenagers are in their car—she knows the killer's coming soon, and scary movies freak her the fuck out like nothing else. Tunny laughs when she blindly grabs for his hand, probably shocked that something so fake is able to frighten her.

"I'm not the one who cried over _Titanic_ ," she retorts. Will hisses at both of them to shut up, he's missing the best part, and Claire placates him easily with a hand on his shoulder.

The bowl in Claire's lap shifts as Tunny steals a handful of popcorn, even though he has his own. She could do the same, but she lets her head fall onto his shoulder, eyes fighting a losing battle to stay open. It's been such a long week.

The television's blue-gray glow shines on them, on Claire's toes curled along Tunny's calf, and on Will's arm slung over the back of the couch.

*

Sundays they all have breakfast together, food spread out buffet-style on the counter, everybody reaching and grabbing for what they want. Tunny slaps Will's hip for using the last of the maple syrup, and Claire manages to steal the last poppyseed bagel for herself. The room gets messy fast, but there'll be time to clean up the whipped cream and stray crumbs later.

After they eat, they settle back into bed. The sun's still fairly low in the sky, streaming light straight through the windows onto Will's hair, making the blue streaks stand out more.

Tunny's between them, his prosthetic off because it's easier that way, and the blankets are pooled around his foot, his ankle. His mouth finds Claire's, syrupy-sweet and gentle; he cups her chin while pulling it down to slip his tongue inside.

Will interrupts after a few minutes, pulling Tunny to him. Claire doesn't think she'll ever get tired of watching them. It's intense. Their relationship's familiar in a way that takes years to develop, and Claire knows she's not there yet with them, which is okay. It'll come, in time.

It's harder to tell who's who with her eyes closed, but Claire goes with it, trading kisses back and forth until all of them are breathing hard. There's not a lot of clothing to strip off before they're naked, and then Will's rolling her nipple between his fingers, and Tunny's snaking his fingers over her hip.

Condoms are in the bedside table, and Claire grabs the box. She's closet. "One or two?"

Tunny and Will both answer _two_ at the same time, so she finds the lube, too, which is shrinking more slowly than their supply of Trojans.

She'd be fine with getting straight to fucking, but Tunny seems to have other ideas. Not that Claire objects to that, either. His tongue on her clit stokes the ache between her legs, and she pushes Tunny's head away before long, saying _enough, enough_ before he pushes her thighs wider and pushes inside her. Will catches Claire's eye, easing two fingers into Tunny's ass as Tunny's hips flex.

"Jesus," Tunny says loudly. "Warn a guy before you— _ah_!" He's still for a minute, seemingly unsure whether he wants to push forward or back, and then Claire feels it as Will's fingers start curling in a regular rhythm. Not enough pressure for him to come, but enough that he wants Will's dick inside him.

She feels it when Will replaces his fingers with his dick, giving Tunny time to adjust to being sandwiched between them. His heart's pounding, right up against Claire's chest, and she touches his hair, trying to slow the blood pumping through his veins. It works, at least a little, and Will starts moving, so slowly that it's barely anything at all.

Claire can't get much—okay, any—leverage this way, but it's still good, Tunny's hips rolling forward against hers when Will thrusts into him. Suddenly, though, something changes and Tunny's hitting that spot inside her every time, flooding her with white-hot pleasure.

"Fuck," she says, chanting it like a mantra. "Tunny, Tunny, _Tunny_ —"

He kisses her, cutting her off, but she's too sensitive, has to roll away from them. The pillow's cool when she presses her overheated cheek to it; looking at her boys like this, so close to the edge and hurtling closer to release every second, is like looking straight into the sun.

Tunny yells curses when he finally comes, Will biting down on his shoulder the whole time—Claire can hear teeth breaking the skin, which means she should probably take a look at it before they crash.

But the thought slips from her mind when they press in next to her, sticky and sweaty, but hers. It's so easy to drift, knowing they'll both be there when she wakes up.


End file.
